Fra Dolcino, and other poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

A Garden terrace in the warm
And moonlit night of Spain lies drowned;
There, of an armed and kingly form
The shadow glides along the ground.
The summer roses breathing sweet,
Guide him to yon deep arched recess,
Carved marble round a window meet
To frame a perfect loveliness.

He stands beneath a laurel-cluster;
The moon makes gleam with her white kiss
His fluted mail, and streams strange lustre
On that young noble brow of his,
That, raised to where yon casement stood
All open to the perfumed air,
Now as in pale stone carving showed
The melancholy passion there.

But when a tender footstep stole
Across the floor, and when a face
Looked out, his glowed with all the soul
To meet Estella's maiden-grace.

144

The leaning form we just discern
Makes that recess a niche divine;
So surely fair white creatures turn
All resting-places to a shrine.

So might a dove, the silken string
That held it slipped, still, trembling, charm
The laurel-gloom, a glimmering
White dream in darkness—the white arm
Of a wild wood-nymph, so within
The ivy's twisted stems and sprays
Be stretched, the fugitive to win—
So downward the live silver plays

Into a hollow cup of rock
Moss-darkened, where it hides and pines;
And so, her grotto-gloom to mock,
A goddess's white vesture shines.
But human love, made sad by fate,
Was burden to the words that fell
Trembling: “Within my maidens wait—
One hour is ours, and then farewell!”

As from that window down she bent,
His deep sad eyes with sudden light
O'erflowed his face, a splendour sent
By passion rather than delight.
They held each other's hands, and each
Loved with their silent looks; at whiles
She stole upon the hush, with speech
Made up of sweet few words and smiles.

145

Yet pale was that young beauteous cheek,
And on him oft, with tender sighs,
As seeking what he could not speak,
She turned her shining, swimming eyes.
As in the sapphire's heart the mark,
The magic cross, comes out—appears
Love's mystic star, and bathes those dark
Bright gems in rich blue light thro' tears.

“I have a gift for thee,” she said;
“'T was given by one who loves thee well—
The last memorial of the dead,
Long cherished in a prison-cell.
I placed it in my reliquaire,
I kissed it as a hallowed thing;
That amulet thy heart shall bear
To guard it, as my hand thy ring.”

All crusted o'er with gems like fruit,
She gave that ivory casket rare;
It opened, and disclosed a shoot
Of sunshine wove in silky hair.
In solemn passionate still he took
That charmed reminder of the dead,
The blind, the loved; with pleading look,
“Thou art so sad to-night!” she said.

“Thou know'st,” said he, “my own dear heart,
I am not wont to show a brow
O'ershadowed, when for war I part;
But something strange o'erclouds it now—

146

Although such precious trust I bear,
A father's vow'd release my scope,
And though I see thee look so fair,
And have thy beauty for my hope.

“The fate that round my life has thrown
Its purple stormcloud, brow and breast
Encircling, till, indifferent grown,
I've worn it like a crown and vest,
Now seems with lightning livid-edged;
Defeat I fear not—I am one
To do this work by birthright pledged,
And though I fall, 't will yet be done.

“God knows, no fearful fate it seems
The well-fought field of fame to see
My own, and sleep in glorious dreams,
A warrior dead, beloved by thee.
For war has been the atmosphere
Of all my fancies, toil and pleasure,
Since first my hand could grasp a spear,
And life by deeds, not days, I measure.

“But to leave thee, to live and bloom
On Danger's rock, fair lonely waif,
And him within his breathing tomb,
And his grey tyrant free and safe!
Nor mayst thou keep that maiden life
To bless my turf with precious rain—
Ramiro heirs a crown and wife
When I am counted with the slain.”

147

“Ah, no!” she spoke: “when, from a child,
I 've seen, just off the wayside, lie
Some nook of heaven, in cloisters isled,
I 've thought 't was made for such as I.
And sooner than another's spoil
This hand, for ever thine, should be,
If thou art lost, from life's wild coil
I hide me there, till called to thee.”

“Not so!” he said; “for fool and slave
These sepulchres of souls were built,
Souls drowsy prayers are droned to save,
When dulled with sorrow, sloth, or guilt.
Since she my whole life missed was hid,
A girl as young and sweet as thou,
In that dark cerement-garb, I bid
Defiance to the wicked vow.

“Their rites are dreams—I find the God
I worship under open skies,
In Freedom's air, on Life's fresh sod,
In play of glorious faculties.
With different hues all souls He paints,
And shapes their different aims in life;
Mine be the hero's, not the saint's,
And thine to be a hero's wife.”

She smiled—all womanhood its part
Held in Estella's fair young breast,
Yet beat the bravest patriot's heart
Beneath that white and waving vest.

148

“Go, then,” she said, “to thy bright goal,
My heaven on earth, my hope, my pride,
With all the war-flames of thy soul
By pure ambition sanctified.

“Crown after crown, for duty's meed,
Far mounting over self, attain;
Set high as heaven thine aims, succeed,
And then, oh, come to me again!”
Still pressed against his heart's strong beat
Her hand, her gift, a gaze of flame
Watched those rose-lips so girlish sweet
From which such noble music came.

“O glorious beauty! now I know
How looked War's clear-eyed priestesses,
The Druid queens of long ago,
When warriors knelt for them to bless,
And rose up victors! But, ah yet!
Time wears, heaven's lights are falling far;
Thine only ne'er for me can set,
Queen of my heaven! soft, splendid star!

“'T will shine down on my field of rest
Or triumph yonder, still to view
Thy threefold token on my breast—
Estella, only loved! adieu!”
With yearnings inexpressible
Of love's intense, in pain revealed,
It past, that bitter sweet farewell—
So went Bernardo to the field.